


The Eerie Place

by flashforeward



Category: Eerie Indiana, Eerie Indiana the Other Dimension, The Good Place (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 09:35:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14305848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashforeward/pseuds/flashforeward
Summary: In which the trio are apparently dead and apparently they all wound up in the Good Place which is kind of like heaven? I guess?





	The Eerie Place

**The ~~Good~~ Eerie Place**

The first thing he saw was obviously a lie. Four words in cheerful green letters on the wall across from him: _Welcome, Everything is Fine_. First, he'd never been _welcome_ anywhere in what little of his life he could remember. Second, he had no idea where he was or how he'd gotten there and based on previous experience that meant everything was most definitely _not fine_.

A door to his left opened and a man wearing an atrociously patterned sweater vest and matching bow-tie popped his head out, grinning like he was delighted to see the young man on his couch. Lie number three.

"Hello Mr. Marsden," the man said. "Come on in." And he disappeared back through the door, leaving Dash X sitting on the couch, blinking in confusion.

Marsden? Who the _hell_ was Mr. Marsden?

Only one way to find out.

Dash stood and crossed the room, stepping through the door into the office. The man was sitting beside a desk, still smiling. Honestly, it was kind of creepy.

"Please, sit down, Jason. May I call you Jason?"

"Sure," Dash grunted, non-committal, as he sat in a surprisingly comfortable wooden arm chair.

"Jason, my name is Crawford." Crawford's smile fell just a little. "I'm sorry to tell you this, Jason, but I'm afraid you're dead."

Well, that figured.

"How'd I bite it?" Dash asked, feeling a bit of satisfaction when the phrasing made Crawford cringe. 

"You died doing a stunt when you were filming a television show," Crawford explained. Dash couldn't help but think that that kind of figured, considering.

"Was it on NBC?" he asked.

Crawford frowned. "Actually, yes," he said. "I'm surprised you remembered that. We don't let the deceased retain their memories when they die, it's better for their time here."

Dash shrugged. "I didn't really," he said. He hadn't. "Just guessing." Not actually. After everything that had happened all those years ago when he'd tricked Marshall into an alternate reality where his life was a television show, on NBC, if Dash X was going to die mistaken for an actor, it made perfect sense that he'd die on set for an NBC show. They were probably getting revenge.

"So I died," he summed up, "and now I'm...," he trailed off, waiting for the inevitable.

Crawford smiled, bright and cheerful. "You're in the Good Place."

Well. That was unexpected.

"The Good Place?" he asked. "Is that like. Heaven?"

Crawford shook his head and shrugged at the same time. "Yes and no. No one got the afterlife exactly right," he explained. "Everyone got a bit right, but no one was spot on. So it's kind of like heaven, but also kind of not. It is the Good Place."

The Good Place.

Kind of like heaven.

How the hell had Dash X wound up here? If he had been asked to guess where he'd wind up after death, it definitely wouldn't have been anyplace like heaven at all.

Yet here he was.

"Well!" Crawford stood suddenly, smiling broadly. "Let me give you a tour of the neighborhood and introduce you to your soul mate."

Oh, this was going to be good...

***

"You guys really love convenience stores," Dash commented as Crawford led him through the neighborhood. Every single store was a convenience store.

"Our studies indicated that humans love one stop shopping," Crawford explained, gesturing at the _Everything At Once_ store they were in front of. "So we decided to make this neighborhood as welcoming as possible, we should include as many convenience stores as possible."

Dash supposed it made sense if your knowledge of humans came entirely from their shopping receipts.

"If you follow me this way, I'll take you to your house," Crawford said, guiding Dash down the road and out of the shopping area towards a cluster of houses. There was one at the far end of the track that gave Dash a sinking feeling - it was a huge Victorian monstrosity that looked the worse for wear. Shingles were loose, the shutters were lopsided, windows were cracked.

Dash's bad feeling grew as they neared the house, but he still hoped he was wrong even as Crawford led him right up to the door.

"And here we have your house," Crawford said, opening the front door and ushering Dash into a dim and dusty front hall. "You were such a fan of horror on Earth, we thought you'd enjoy your very own haunted house."

Whoever the fuck "Jason Marsden" was, Dash vowed to find him and haunt the shit out of him.

"It's very, er. Creepy," Dash said, forcing himself to smile.

"Yes, that's exactly what we were going for!" Crawford said, beaming. He clapped his hands together and led Dash on a tour through the house. There were no steps to the basement, just a frayed and dangerous looking rope. Dash supposed it was good he was already dead because that was an accident waiting to happen. The rooms upstairs were full of creepy toys and if Dash had ever said anything bad about living in the Old Hitchcock Mill he took it all back now.

As they went back down to the main floor, Crawford cheerfully telling Dash more things about the neighborhood that Dash promptly forgot, someone knocked at the door. Someone a little too familiar for Dash's liking. 

"Ah, perfect!" Crawford said, grinning and walking up to shake the man's hand. "Marshall Teller, I'm so glad you came over, I'd like to introduce you to your soul mate." He turned and gestured Dash forward and Dash cursed himself for any thoughts that this couldn't get worse that he might have had and forgotten about because clearly he'd inadvertently jinxed himself. "Jason Marsden, Marshall Teller," he introduced them to each other, taking their hands and bringing them together. "You two are soul mates!"

The silence that fell was as comfortable as sleeping on a bed stuffed with porcupine quills.

Crawford looked from one of them to the other and started inching out the door. "I'll just leave you two to get better acquainted," he said, then disappeared down the sidewalk, leaving Dash and Marshall alone.

Dash quickly let go of Marshall's hand and rubbed his own on his coat. "How the hell did I get stuck with _you_ for eternity?" he asked.

"You? What about me? I thought I'd finally gotten away from you and what do I find?" He rolled his eyes. "Of course you're here to mess up the afterlife, too."

***

"Kill me," Mars said, collapsing back onto the couch. It sent up a cloud of dust and Mars coughed, glaring at Dash as if he had designed this place.

"You're already dead," Dash said, perching on the couch's arm. He considered giving Mars shit for sitting on _his_ sofa but given the dust he figured he was better off staying where he was. "How much deader could you get?"

Mars shook his head. "I don't know, but something's gotta be better than being stuck here with you." He crossed his arms over his chest and sank further into the black cushions. "How the hell is this _heaven_?" he asked.

"It's not," Dash corrected automatically. He shrugged at yet another glare Mars shot his way. "What? That's what that guy said. He said it isn't Heaven, it's the Good Place."

"Heaven, Good Place, whatever it is, how are you here?" Mars stood - it was a struggle, the cushions seemed intent on holding onto him, and Dash had to fight not to laugh as he watched - and strode up into Dash's personal space. "How did you wind up in the Good Place?"

"I'm guessing clerical error," Dash said.

Marshall huffed and paced away. Dash rolled his eyes. _He'd_ thought it was a reasonable conclusion.

"Look," Dash said, standing and starting after Marshall. "They got my name wrong, they got my house wrong - why exactly would I want to live in a haunted house after death when I was stuck living in one for so long _alive_?" He shook his head as Mars turned back to face him. "So clearly someone somewhere screwed up the paperwork and I got in by mistake." He shrugged. "Not about to complain."

"You're probably here _instead_ of this Jason guy, though. What if he's in the Bad Place suffering because of you?"

"I'll send him a gift basket."

"I don't think you can send gift baskets to the Bad Place!"

"Why not? We have enough convenience stores to serve a small city, one of them has to do delivery."

"To the _Bad Place_?"

On the plus side, Marshall was no longer complaining about Dash's being here or being his soul mate. On the down side, Dash wasn't sure he wanted to argue about the delivery routes of Good Place convenience stores, even if it was proving a good distraction. He was saved by a knock at the door. He turned and left Marshall stewing in the living room, strolling to the hall and pulling the door open to find Simon Holmes on his doorstep.

"You're here, too?" Dash asked.

Simon shrugged. "Mars and I were in the same accident."

"Milk truck?" Simon nodded. "Who was driving?"

"Tod McNulty."

"He survive?"

"Yup."

"Figures. Come in?"

"No." Mars barreled past Dash and out the door, dragging Simon down the steps the front walk. "I'm not spending another second in that house. I'm going straight to Crawford and telling him you don't belong here," he said, rounding on Dash to point at him emphatically as he spoke.

Dash leaned against the door jamb, crossing his arms over his chest and tilting his head to the side. "I don't think so, Slick," he said.

"Oh, and why not?"

Dash grinned. "Because then I'll have to tell Mr. Crawford all about a certain Incident." He raised his eyebrows, not elaborating. But he didn't need to. He watched as Marshall's determination slipped to worry.

"You wouldn't," he said, voice quiet. But it was no use, Simon was already looking confusedly from Dash to Mars and back again, waiting for someone to explain.

No one did.

"If you tell Crawford I'm not supposed to be here, I would," Dash said. He stood, waiting, letting it sink in. It wasn't that bad, by Dash's standards, but he was guessing that by _Good Place_ standards, using someone else's body to destroy evidence and cover up a crime was pretty high up on the Things That Get You Sent to Torture Town list. Particularly if the crime was murder. He wasn't sure how killing the undead factored into the Good Place's criteria, but he could tell by Marshall's expression that he didn't want to risk it.

"Fine," Mars finally said. "But you just. Leave us alone, okay?"

"I dunno, Mars, we're supposed to be _soul mates_ ," Dash said, shooting Mars a grin and enjoying Simon's look of incredulous worry. "Wouldn't it look kinda weird if we spent no time together?"

Mars groaned. "I really forking hate you, you know that?"

"Did you just say fork?"

"No, I said _fork_." A pause. "Fork. Fork. What the _fork_?"

"We can't swear," Simon supplied helpfully, clearly trying not to laugh. "Apparently some people in this neighborhood don't like it so we just can't do it." He shrugged. "It's kind of a bench, but it's also a little hilarious, don't you think?"

"This is just great. I'm stuck pretending to be _his_ soul mate and I can't even properly express how I feel about it," Mars grumbled. "Such bullshirt." He groaned. "Whatever. I'm going home. Enjoy your haunted house."

"We have to go to the welcome ceremony," Simon said, catching Marshall's sleeve as he turned to walk away. "It's in the town square. Crawford's going to do a whole presentation and explain how the neighborhood works. Then there's a party at...my house." He looked embarrassed and ducked his head, his face growing red. "It won't be much but Crawford thought I might like to welcome everyone and get to know my neighbors."

Mars patted him on the shoulder. "That sounds great, Simon," he said. "Do you need any help getting setup?" He shot a look at Dash. "My _soul mate_ and I would be more than happy to help."

"Fork you," Dash grumbled, but he kept it quiet because Simon lit up at the offer and, well.

He did want to seem like he belonged here, didn't he?

He followed Simon and Marshall back into the heart of the neighborhood. There was a screen set up in front of a sweeping lawn - the town square, presumably - with rows of chairs facing it. Some people were already seated, others were just straggling in. Mars and Simon took their seats and Dash made sure to sit on Simon's other side - he might have to pretend to be Marshall's soul mate but not right now.

Once everyone had settled down, Crawford appeared. "Hello," he said, his voice projecting easily over the crowd. "And welcome to the Good Place." He grinned down at them. "I'm Crawford. I created this neighborhood to be the perfect place for every one of your unique souls to spend the rest of eternity."

Dash stifled a disbelieving laugh and Simon elbowed him in the ribs.

"Every one of you lived an extraordinary life and earned your right to live out your afterlife in comfort and happiness here, in the Good Place."

Marshall's turn for an elbow to the ribs. Dash grinned, glad he wasn't the only one Simon was keeping tabs on.

"Now while this neighborhood was expertly crafted for you, if I missed anything that would make your eternity better, do not hesitate to ask Mr. Wilson." A hush fell and a man with huge glasses and a bright red bow tie appeared beside Crawford. "Mr. Wilson is available always to answer any questions you may have or provide you with anything you feel you're missing."

The crowd applauded and Crawford dismissed Mr. Wilson back to...wherever he came from. Dash noticed Marshall was sitting forward in his seat, riveted by the magically appearing and disappearing man.

Dash leaned over Simon to whisper to him. "You know it doesn't count as weirdness when you're in the afterlife, right? You're dead. Weird has a new definition."

"You don't know that for sure," Marshall shot back.

Dash rolled his eyes. The presentation was over and people were milling about chatting and getting to know each other. "Let's go set up Simon's for this party thing," Dash said. Not because he wanted to do actual work but because he thought it would be better to discuss the Weirdness Investigator's role in the afterlife somewhere not surrounded by other people.

***

Simon's home looked just like the Teller home, and Dash found himself wondering what Marshall's home looked like. Probably the Secret Spot. Or a museum of weird. Or both of those things combined, maybe? Probably? He stifled a laugh at the thought of Marshall spending his afterlife the exact same way he'd spent his life - cataloging weirdness.

"What's so funny?" Marshall asked, probably guessing he was the butt of whatever joke Dash had just told himself.

Dash shrugged. "Nothin', Slick. Let's get inside so we can discuss things where other people won't hear us, all right?"

Simon led them inside and they all trooped into the living room - an exact replica of the Teller living room. The television was on but it was playing Crawford's welcome message and any attempts (by Dash) to find something else to watch were thwarted. Crawford was on every channel.

Some good place.

"Nice house, Simon," Mars said, sitting down on the couch. Dash couldn't tell if he was uncomfortable with the fact that Simon's perfect home was _his_ home or if he was actually sincere. Not that he cared...

"Thanks," Simon said with a shrug, dragging the coffee table up against the wall under the windows. Mars seemed to remember he was supposed to be helping and jumped up to do just that a second too late. Dash immediately took his seat, raising his eyebrows when Marshall shot him a glare. 

"I wish it weren't so empty, though," Simon continued, either not noticing Dash and Mars's silent argument or choosing to ignore it. He continued moving furniture aside as he spoke, not looking at either of his friends. "It's so quiet all the time and kind of lonely." He shrugged. "Crawford said I don't have a soul mate so it's just me."

They were quiet for awhile. Dash stood up and grabbed one end of the couch, kicking Marshall in the shin to get him to the other end so they could move it to the edge of the room.

"Is that why you offered to host the party?" Marshall asked. Dash wanted to kick him again, but he was too far away now, following Simon into the kitchen to start setting up the platters of food. "So you could fill the house?"

"No, Crawford said I was best suited to hosting a party," Simon answered, spreading out hors d'oeuvres on a plate. "He said I have the type of personality that keeps large groups of people calm." Dash, leaning against the kitchen counter and watching Simon and Marshall work, noticed a soft red creeping up Simon's neck - he was pleased with that assessment. He liked that Crawford thought that of him. 

And Dash couldn't help but smile.

He dropped it when he saw Marshall watching him. "What?" he growled.

"We have to figure out what's going on here."

"We're setting up for a party, didn't you notice?" Dash asked, gesturing to the bread Marshall had started slicing. "Watch your fingers, Slick."

Mars rolled his eyes. "No, we're setting up for a party," he said, gesturing between himself and Simon (with the hand holding the knife, Dash noted, glad they were all already dead). "You're standing there watching."

Dash shrugged. "I'm supervising," he said. "Don't point at people with knives. See? Supervising."

"Fine, you're supervising, whatever." Marshall went back so slicing the bread and Dash couldn't help but wonder why they had to prepare and set up when they had an unknown entity who could do everything for them and all they had to do was ask. He thought about posing that question himself, but decided it was better to deal with one argument at a time.

"What am I doing here?" Dash asked.

"Supervising," Marshall provided, absentmindedly.

Dash rolled his eyes. "No, idiot, that's what we're trying to figure out," he said. "Remember?"

Mars glanced at him, the knife coming down across his finger. He sucked in a breath and dropped the knife and the bread, stepping back. "Ow, what the fork?" he stared at his unblemished flesh. "I. Didn't get cut."

"You're already dead," Dash pointed out.

"So why did it hurt?"

"Probably so you would stop," Simon said. "If you didn't have pain receptors you'd just keep slicing through your finger over and over not realizing until you looked down again."

"That. Actually makes sense," Marshall said. "How'd you figure that out?"

Simon stared at him. "Mars, we've been studying strange phenomena since I was nine, I picked a few things up."

"Oh. Right. Yeah."

Dash laughed. "Good job there, Slick," he said. He reached across the counter and pulled the knife and the bread across to him and took up the job of slicing it. "You've demonstrated you can't be trusted with sharp objects, find something else to do."

" _I_ can't be trusted with sharp objects? You tried to kill me!"

"With a gun," Dash said. "Guns aren't sharp."

"Unless you have a bayonet," Simon said.

Dash glared at him. "It didn't have a bayonet," he said, "and who's side are you on?"

"Mine," Mars said.

Simon shook his head. "I'm not on a side, I just want to be ready when everyone arrives for the welcome party."

"Why don't you just ask that Mr. Wilson guy?" Dash asked.

Simon froze. Marshall stared at Dash like he'd just kicked a puppy.

"What?" Dash asked, looking from Mars to Simon and back. "What? Can one of you please tell me what I did this time?"

"Drop it, Dash," Mars growled.

Simon shook his head. "It's okay," he said. "I. I had a friend named Mr. Wilson once. And it didn't end well."

"Oh," Dash said. "Sorry."

They all grew quiet, working in silence to get Simon's house ready for the party. Sure, they didn't figure out any more about this place or why Dash was there, but it suddenly didn't seem all that important.

***

"Looks good," Mars said when everything was ready. There were snacks set up on the kitchen counter. The living room was cleared for milling and there was a small space at the front for speeches. Apparently there was _another_ welcome speech. Or something. Crawford liked speeches, Dash guessed.

"When are the hordes going to arrive?" Dash asked.

"Dash, they're our neighbors!"

"And there are hordes of them, what's your point?"

Mars rolled his eyes but he didn't answer. Dash wasn't sure if he preferred that or if he would have rather continued the argument.

"They won't be here for awhile," Simon said, sitting on the stairs. "We can talk."

Oh, right, that.

Marshall sat beside Simon which left Dash to stand awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs. He wondered if it was a power play or if they were being kind enough to leave him a route to the exit. For Simon, probably the latter. With Marshall it was harder to tell.

"So Dash is in the Good Place," Simon said, summing everything up nicely for them. Not that they really needed him to. "But Crawford thinks he's Jason Marsden. So the question is is Jason Marsden accidentally in the Bad Place and should we tell Crawford about this error?"

"No," Dash said.

Mars glared at him, as if he wasn't included in this conversation. Which was about him. So he sure as hell _better_ be included. "You'd let someone else stew in the Bad Place when _you're_ supposed to be there?" Mars asked.

Dash shrugged. "We've established I belong in the Bad Place, so why _wouldn't_ I?"

Simon held up a hand before Marshall could make a rebuttal. "You don't think it was a mistake, do you?" he asked.

Dash just shrugged. "I don't think this place is what they say it is."

"Based on what?" Mars asked. "The fact that you're here? We already established you're a mistake."

Silence fell heavy between them. Simon looked nervously from Dash to Mars while Dash settled a glare on Marshall. "Cosmic afterlife," Dash said, "how exactly would they make a mistake?"

"It could happen."

"How?"

"They have control over the afterlives of billions of people! Of course they can make a mistake."

Dash rolled his eyes. "This isn't giving the wrong change at the grocery store, Slick," he said. "This is the eternal rest of a person's soul. I think they're probably pretty careful about that shirt." He scowled. "Shirt. _Shirt_. Oh fork."

Marshall laughed. "Forgot we couldn't swear?"

"Fork you, Teller."

"Can we get back on topic?" Simon asked, voice quiet. He looked up at Dash. "What else?"

Dash shrugged. "Do you really think benevolent beings bent on making your afterlife as good as possible would knowingly assign the neighborhood Simon lives in a helper bot named Mr. Wilson."

There was a quiet ping and Mr. Wilson appeared beside Dash, who jumped. Simon edged back on his step.

"Hello, I'm Mr. Wilson," Mr. Wilson said. "What can I help you with?"

"You can go now," Dash said, waving his hand at Mr. Wilson. Another ping and the entity disappeared. Dash shot a quick glance at Simon, then shifted his attention to Mars. "Where was I?"

"Summoning Simon's traumatic past?"

"Yes, exactly!" Dash pointed at Marshall like he'd just summed up Dash's argument. "That's what I mean! Why would they provide a helper bot who Simon wouldn't want to summon if this were the Good Place?"

"Maybe they didn't know?"

"They rank our lives," Dash said slowly. "Our _entire_ lives, Teller. They know."

"So you think this is the Bad Place?" Simon asked quietly.

"Yes."

Now that he'd really thought about it, laid it all out neatly, it made the most sense. Of course the cosmic beings that controlled the afterlife wouldn't mess up and accidentally send the wrong person to the Good Place. Which meant they were conning the lot of them and this was never the Good Place in the first place.

Dash grinned, ignoring the looks of confusion and disbelief on Simon and Marshall's faces. "They made one mistake," he said, gesturing at himself. "They tried to con a con man."

***

The party was in full swing, which Dash kind of hated. He wanted to keep talking with Simon and Marshall about what exactly this place was and what they were going to do about it. But before they could get into a more in-depth discussion, Crawford had arrived and Mr. Wilson had reappeared and then the other residents of the neighborhood had started trickling into Simon's house. It wasn't the best venue for a gathering of this size, but Simon had arranged the furniture in the best way possible for ease of movement, like he had a sixth sense about it or something. Or maybe the nature of the Good Place allowed it to stretch to accommodate. It wasn't really something Dash felt he should dwell on, but it was either that or make inane conversation with these people so he stuck to the edges and tried to figure out if the Tellers had ever fit this many people in their living room.

His conclusion was that it was possible but unlikely.

Crawford was clearing his throat and tapping a knife against a glass, calling for attention. What else he had to say that he hadn't said earlier was beyond Dash, who took the opportunity to grab some food off the plates of the people in front of him. He might be dead and stealing might not be necessary anymore, but it was still fun. Besides if he went to the kitchen, he'd have to make small talk. This way he could eat his shrimp puffs in peace.

"Ladies, gentlemen, neither, and both," Crawford began. "I want to start off by thanking Simon Holmes for opening his home to us tonight for our welcome party." He gestured to Simon who waved shyly from his station near the kitchen - in case anything needed to be refilled. "But I also want to invite our top point earner to the stage to give a short speech about what exactly it means to be in the Good Place."

Hushed conversations popped up. Dash ignored most of it, he figured anyone who made the most points by the Good Place's standards was going to be pretty boring. He busied himself relieving someone of a few more shrimp puffs - these were really good - while he waited for this shindig to just end already.

So he almost missed it when Crawford said, "And now, please welcome, Jason Marsden!"

The room erupted into applause and at first Dash was just going to keep ignoring it but then Mars trod on his foot and he remembered: he was supposed to be Jason Marsden.

Oh shirt.

He stuffed one more shrimp puff in his mouth before pushing through the crowd - they _were_ moving out of his way, but he bumped into a few people on purpose anyway. He joined Crawford at the makeshift stage area and took the proffered microphone.

He considered what he could say. He could keep up the pretense - act like he was Jason Marsden, accomplished horror actor - but he didn't really want to. What was the point, when he was almost positive this place wasn't what it was masquerading as? He decided it would be more interesting to shake things up, rock the boat as they might say.

"My name isn't Jason," he said, ignoring the shocked reactions of his audience. "It's Dash. Dash X. And this?" He looked around at the people staring at him, slack jawed and confused. "This isn't The Good Place."

It was quiet for a moment, a heavy quiet that hung over the room, then Crawford burst out laughing. The crowd - besides Simon and Mars - groaned.

"You said this would work!" a blonde woman called out, throwing her plate down on the ground. "I'm calling Radford."

"Better go straight to Chisel," a man said. "This is much higher than Radford."

"Radford'll give him a chance," the woman replied, leading the chattering crowd back towards the door. "Chisel would retire him immediately."

Once the crowd had disappeared, leaving only Crawford, Dash, Simon, and Marshall, Crawford's laugh faded away and he glared down at Dash. "How did you know?" he asked.

Dash shrugged. "You didn't do that great a job," he said. "Superficially it was perfect, but there were little details you thought we wouldn't notice."

"Your friends didn't."

"My friends didn't spend their lives conning and stealing to survive," Dash pointed out. "You have to sell it, and you just didn't sell it."

"Why?" Marshall asked, coming closer, Simon beside him. "Why do this?"

"I thought we could innovate a new way to torture people," Crawford said. "Make you torture each other. I just didn't count on Dash here catching on so quick." Dash beamed. "Don't look so proud. If my bosses catch wind of this it's straight to the torture realms for all three of you."

"But didn't they just go to tell your bosses?" Simon asked, gesturing towards the door.

Crawford shrugged. "Carrie will keep them from going straight to Chisel," he said. "And she's right, Radford _will_ give me a second chance." He studied Dash, Simon, and Marshall in turn, shaking his head. "I just have to be more careful next time."

"What was the point?" Marshall asked.

"The point? The point was making our job easier. All we had to do was keep up the pretense, make you think you were in the Good Place, and you three would torture each other for us!"

"Why are you telling us this if you want to try again?" Simon asked.

"Because we can erase your memories." Crawford glanced at his wrist, though there was no watch there. "Radford should be in my office by now. Shall we?" he gestured at the door.

Dash wondered what would happen if they tried not to go with him, but decided it was better to just go with it for now. He thought he'd rather be honestly tortured than manipulated like this, but he also wanted to know what the hell was going on here.

Then he could figure a way out.

As they followed Crawford out, he caught Simon's gaze, then Marshall's, and he really hoped they were on the same page with this.

***

Dash wasn't sure why he expected to walk into Crawford's office and see someone other than the Radford he had known in Eerie, Indiana sitting behind the desk. Maybe it was less an expectation and more a hope. Not that hope had ever done anything for Dash X except let him down. Still, until they walked through the door and came face to face with a man they had all known in life, he had clung to the rationalization that _Radford_ couldn't be that uncommon a name.

"Fancy meeting you here," he said, leaning back in his chair and surveying the three young men before him. 

Dash felt Marshall deflate beside him - any hope he'd had that physical resemblance and name were it and this was some _other_ Radford were gone. "What is this?" he asked, voice hard and low. "What are you doing here?"

"Didn't Crawford explain?" Radford glanced at Crawford who gave a slight nod, then looked back at Marshall. "I'm his direct superior. My direct superior is Chisel."

"Mayor Chisel?" Marshall asked, taking the lead as he so often did in life. What else was new? He was used to being in charge, he would be in charge in hell, too. Apparently.

Whatever. Dash didn't care. It was _hell_ or _the bad place_ or _whatever_. If Mars wanted to be in charge he could forking well be in charge. Dash furrowed his brow. Of _course_ even his forking thoughts were forking censored. Forking bullshirt.

"Yes, Mr. Teller, Mayor Chisel is the all powerful being with full control over the Bad Place."

"See," Dash butted in, stepping forward and a little in front of Marshall, "him I get. You," he pointed at Radford who pointed at himself, letting his mouth fall open in a look of disbelief. " _You_ I don't get. You were never _evil_."

"He wasn't always _good_ though," Simon said, voice quiet. "He was..."

"I believe the term is _morally ambiguous_ ," Radford supplied. He stood and clasped his hands in front of him. "But whatever impression you had of my Earthly Avatar has no place _here_. This is the Bad Place and all you need know is you are here to be tortured. For all eternity." He smiled like he'd just said the most wonderful thing in the world, spreading his arms out, palms up. "And my job is to make sure that torture runs smoothly."

"None of this makes any forking sense," Marshall burst out. He shoved past Dash and marched up to the desk, leaning across to glare at Radford. "You _aren't_ an all powerful being. You're a convenience store owner!"

"As I said, my Earthly Avatar has no bearing here." Radford lowered his arms and gently pushed Marshall back. "Now," he looked over at Crawford, "what went wrong?"

"The gray haired kid figured it out too quickly," he said.

"I did warn you he would be the hardest to trick." Crawford nodded, looking chastened. "Chisel would want you retired and the whole experiment scrapped." Again, Crawford nodded. "But!" Radford rounded the desk and paced before the three young men, smiling, a glint in his eye. "But I want to see if we can't make this successful."

"Sir?" Crawford's voice cracked as he lifted his head, gazing at Radford like he'd just promised Crawford the moon.

"Yes, I think you deserve a second chance," Radford said. He draped his hands behind his back and stood directly in front of Dash, studying him. "Just remember, this one is tricky."

"Yes, sir!" Crawford said, striding forward. "I will, I promise. I _know_ it will work this time!"

"It won't," Marshall said, stepping towards Crawford, "because we won't _let_ you try again. We're getting out of here." He turned to Dash and Simon, but Radford raised his hand and snapped his fingers and the three disappeared from the room.

"Now, we'll just let them rest for a little bit while we discuss some...important matters," Radford said, striding back around and taking a seat at the desk. "I know when I have _my_ memory wiped, I need a few minutes to recuperate."

"I'm sorry about all this, Sir," Crawford said, sitting in one of the guest chairs positioned in front of the desk. "I should have heeded your warnings more carefully. I thought I'd taken care of everything but-"

Radford held up a hand, cutting Crawford off. "It's fine," he said. "I'm glad they called on me rather than on Chisel, this is too delicate a matter to throw out all your hard work after one failure."

"Thank you, sir."

"Can we go over the data you've collected from the first attempt?" Radford asked. "Maybe we won't _need_ to start over."

Crawford shook his head. "They figured it out too quickly," he said. "We didn't get enough."

Radford brought his fist down on the top of the desk - hard, but not so hard as to make Crawford jump. "Drat," he muttered. He blew out a sigh. "I guess we will have to go for a second attempt. Remember," he held Crawford's gaze, "be careful with Dash. We need them to believe this is the Good Place for as long as possible in order to finish this."

Crawford nodded. "I promise," he said. 

Radford smiled a friendly smile. "All right then," he said, standing. "Let's redecorate and wake our guests!"

***

"Welcome, Simon Holmes, to the Good Place." The man behind the desk - Crawford, he'd said - grinned at Simon. "You were such a good person in life you earned a place here, among the best of the best, in this specially constructed neighborhood tailored to suit you perfectly."

Simon wasn't sure _best of the best_ was a phrase he would ever have used to describe himself, but it seemed impertinent to argue the point, so he just nodded his understanding and waited. Crawford's smile seemed forced, frozen in place. He was waiting for Simon, apparently. But Simon had nothing to say, so he only continued waiting for Crawford.

Minutes later, awkwardly clearing his throat, Crawford finally continued. "Well," he said, standing and rounding the desk. "Come along and I'll give you a tour of the neighborhood." Simon stood and followed Crawford out. The streets were crowded with smiling people, the shops were all Halloween themed: Werewolf Wateringhole, Haunted House Hairstyles, Dreadful Diner... Simon stared as they passed and Crawford caught his expression and grinned.

"Do you like it?" Crawford asked. "Halloween is such a favorite holiday among humans, particularly this batch of humans, I thought it would be nice if everything and every day were Halloween."

Simon bit at his lip. He'd dealt with enough _real_ supernatural beings in his life, he didn't really care to be constantly reminded of the tame, cute versions popularized for Halloween. He held his tongue, though. Crawford seemed so proud of his creation.

They left the center of town, entering an area populated entirely by houses. There was one Simon recognized instantly. The Teller house. Crawford was leading him there. "Your soul mates should already be here," he said, knocking on the door. A few moments later, it was pulled open by a glowering young man with a head of gray hair. "Ah, Jason, this is Simon Holmes, he's your other soul mate."

Simon stared. Dash X stared right back. Well. Dash X more _glowered_ than stared, but that was typical.

"Other soul mate?" Simon asked after the silence stretched, feeling uncomfortable.

Crawford grinned and ushered them inside. "Yes, yes, come," he said. "You have _two_ soul mates, Simon. The three of you were linked no matter what algorithm we used." He looked around the living room, brow furrowed, then looked at Dash. "Jason, where's Marshall?"

"Fork if I know," Dash said, falling back onto the couch, his black coat billowing around him. He crossed his arms and glared at the blank television screen. Crawford watched him for a minute, but when it became clear Dash wasn't going to be helpful he shrugged and guided Simon through the living room into the kitchen. 

Empty.

Crawford frowned.

"I wonder where he could have gotten to," he said.

Simon wasn't sure if he should say anything, but he _did_ have a fairly good idea of where Mars was, and maybe that would get Crawford to leave them alone sooner and then they could figure out what was going on. "Mr. Crawford?" Simon asked.

"Yes, Simon?"

"Could he be upstairs?" Vague seemed the best way to broach the subject and keep Crawford from being suspicious. There were stairs, they hadn't checked upstairs, therefore it was completely reasonable for Simon to wonder if Marshall was upstairs and Crawford would have no reason to suspect that Simon knew _exactly_ what was upstairs and why Marshall was most likely there.

Crawford smiled. "Excellent idea, Simon," he said. He led Simon back through the living room - Dash had not moved - and then up the stairs. "Marshall?" he called as they went. There was a thundering sound as someone ran down a set of stairs and as they reached the second floor landing the door to the attic was closing behind Marshall, who leaned against it nonchalantly.

Or as nonchalantly as someone could lean against a door when they were panting for breath and looking like a jackalope under the glaring gaze of a werewolf. "What's going on?" he asked, once he'd caught his breath.

"Marshall!" Crawford clapped a hand on his shoulder and gestured to Simon. "This is your other soul mate, Simon Holmes. Simon, this is Marshall Teller."

Marshall nodded and stepped forward, hand out-held, as if he and Simon were meeting for the first time. As if they hadn't been friends for years. Simon hesitated, but he could see the logic in Marshall's actions so he accepted the hand and shook. "Nice to meet you," he said, hoping the lie sounded more natural than it felt.

Crawford nodded, grinning. "Well!" he said. "I'll leave you three to get acquainted!"

Simon and Marshall stood staring at each other as Crawford briskly descended the stairs and slipped out the door. Only once they heard the latch click did either of them dare move or speak.

"Simon, what the _hell_ is going on?" Marshall asked, slumping against the wall. "I got here and they told me Dash X is my soul mate? I've been in the secret spot ever since." He shook his head. "What is this?"

Simon pulled in a slow breath, uncertain. He didn't want to give voice to what was happening for fear that acknowledging it would make it true, rather than a strange dream. But still, they were here no matter what he said and ignoring it wasn't going to make it go away. He bit at his lip and glanced down the stairs, expecting to see Mrs. Teller calling up to see how they were doing and asking if they wanted to come down for dinner.

But all he saw was Dash's head peering around the corner, glaring up at them as if it was their fault this was happening.

For all Simon knew, it could have been.

"I think we're dead," he said, gaze fixed on Dash's. He needed that steady, unwavering glare. Something that made sense amongst everything that didn't. "I think," he repeated, speaking slowly, trying to wrap his own mind around the words even as he said them. "I think we must have died."

***

"Okay, so we're dead," Marshall said, sipping at his coffee. They had retreated to the kitchen and were sitting around the table, discussing the situation in hopes of determining a plan of action. Marshall's idea. "And we're in the Good Place, which is like heaven, right?"

Dash snorted. "You in heaven, that's a good one, Slick," he said.

Marshall glared at him. "You're one to talk," he said. "How the hell are _you_ here and where's the guy you usurped?"

"Usurped?" Dash raised an eyebrow. "That's a big word, Slick, you know what it means?"

"It means you're here so someone who's supposed to be here is in the Bad Place being tortured instead," Marshall retorted. He set his coffee cup down hard, flinching when the hot liquid spilled over the lip onto his hand. His brow furrowed and he glanced at the cup. "Why did that hurt?"

"So you don't do it again?" Simon offered.

"How do you know the guy they think I am was supposed to be here and not in hell?" Dash asked, getting them back on topic before they started discussing the physics of the afterlife.

"Not Hell," Marshall corrected. "The Bad Place."

"You were bad, you get tortured. It's hell."

Marshall rolled his eyes but he didn't correct Dash again. He took another sip of coffee, stalling while he thought about the situation. "Why would they think Jason Marsden was supposed to be here if he _wasn't_ supposed to be here?"

"That was convoluted, even for you, Slick," Dash said. He shook his head. "But that's assuming that _here_ is where they say it is."

"And what do _you_ think it is?" Marshall asked.

"Clearly it's a long con," he said. "I don't know if we're dead or if it's an elaborate simulation, but we aren't where Crawford says we are. It's all to convenient." He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "They stick _us_ together for eternity? They mistake me for some actor who I probably look _nothing_ like - assuming he's even real - and poor Simon over there has to babysit you in paradise? Sounds like a con to me."

"Simon's younger than me."

Dash raised an eyebrow. "Your point?"

Marshall was about to retort, but he closed his mouth and shook his head - probably because he knew Dash was right. Simon kept his mouth shut through the whole exchange, thinking carefully about every point they each made and trying to formulate his own conclusions about the situation.

On the one hand, he remembered the milk trunk accident he and Mars had supposedly died in. On the other hand, Dash made a lot of good points. Simon was trying to figure out how to agree with even _one_ of those points without Marshall accusing him of taking Dash's side when there was a knock on the door. "I'll get it," Simon said, jumping up and hurrying out of the kitchen.

He was a little nervous to see who was there, but it would give him more time to consider what was happening.

And maybe Dash and Marshall would get their brewing fight out of their system before Simon got back.

Simon stopped. Staring at the door as the knocking persisted, then he turned on his heel and stormed back into the kitchen as a chair (Marshall's) clattered to the floor. "Guys!" Simon shouted from the doorway, stopping the fight before it could start. "Guys, Dash is right. This," he waved a hand at their surroundings and the fact that Mars looked about ready to leap over the table and strangle Dash. "This is not the Good Place. It can't be."

The knocking got louder, more of a pounding now.

***

"Mr. Radford?" Simon asked, pulling the door open and stepping back to let him in. "Are you. Here because we figured out we're not in the Good Place?"

Radford smiled fondly at Simon as they walked back to the kitchen where Dash and Marshall were thankfully not fighting. "Figured it out again, did you?" he asked. "That's good, I hoped it wouldn't take too long."

"So you're not here to hit us with that brain zapping amnesia power you used earlier?" Marshall asked.

"I am not." Radford took a seat at the table and clasped his hands before him. "I'm just glad I arrived before Crawford did, else I would have had to and we would be back at square one." He shook his head. "Time is of the essence, boys." He sat forward in his chair and the three young men sat forward as well, everything feeling normal as Radford referred to them as _boys_ and launched into his explanation. It was like old times.

Except they were dead.

So.

Not _quite_ like old times.

"What's going on?" Marshall asked, looking Radford in the eye. "Are you really one of the...heads of Hell?"

Radford chuckled, which surprised all of them.

"This isn't Hell, Mr. Teller."

"The Bad Place, then," Dash said, rolling his eyes and leaning back in his chair.

"Not that, either."

"But," Simon bit at his lip, shaking his head. "But we _know_ it isn't the Good Place."

"Correct!" Radford grinned, raising his eyebrows. "It's none of those places."

"Then where are we?"

"A pocket dimension," Radford said as if that was the most self explanatory answer possible. Simon, Marshall, and Dash exchanged looks, then returned their attention to Radford. He looked a little defeated when he saw they didn't understand. "We've been taken out of time and put into a pocket universe temporarily. As a distraction."

"A distraction from what?" Marshall asked.

"What's Chisel up to?" This from Dash, who shrugged at the questioning look Marshall shot him. "What, it's the most likely explanation."

"Dash is right," Radford said. "This is Chisel's doing." He sighed and shook his head. "I'd hoped I could get through to him before he put his plan into motion, but instead I had to scramble to make sure I was in here with you."

"How did you manage that?" Simon asked.

Radford waved him off. "That's a question for another time, Simon," he said. "We have too much to do and not nearly enough time to do it in."

" _What_ do we have to do?" Marshall asked as Radford started for the door. He glanced at Simon, who shrugged, then at Dash who looked like he didn't plan on moving anytime soon. Mars sighed and hurried after Radford, who was well out the door and down the sidewalk.

Marshall jogged to catch up, hoping Radford hadn't answered his question already.

"Mr. Radford," he said once he'd caught up. "What are we going to do?"

"We are going to find a way out of here so we can stop Mayor Chisel before things get out of hand."

"Doesn't us being here mean it's already out of hand?" Dash asked, startling Marshall. He glanced back and saw that Simon and Dash had caught up to them. He hadn't expected Dash to come, wasn't sure Dash believed any of this or would be willing to work with them. They'd been associates for years, but he still could never be sure what to expect.

"It certainly means things are farther along than I'd like," Radford said, shaking his head. He turned a corner and led the crew into a very familiar convenience store.

"I didn't know there was a World O' Stuff here," Simon said.

"I hid it," Radford explained, taking up his usual position behind the ice cream bar. "One Black Cow with a nip of java, one Ditto, and for you?" he said, pointing at Dash on the last word.

Dash rarely went to the World O' Stuff with Simon and Marshall and never had milk shakes when he did. He shrugged. "Shamrock?" he asked.

Radford made a face. "You really do belong in the Bad Place, don't you?" he asked, but he set about making everyone's drinks.

"Do you have any idea what Chisel is up to?" Marshall asked, tapping his fingers on the counter.

"I have some suspicions," Radford said, setting the first two shakes in front of Mars and Simon, then turning to make Dash's. "But I don't know for certain yet. Since he felt the need to place you in a pocket dimension, it's likely something supernatural. And it's probably something that will take time."

"How can we figure out what it is if we're stuck here?" Dash asked. "Shouldn't we just go back and confront him and get this over with?"

"That, my friend, would be far too rash," Radford said.

That was when the pounding started. Rhythmic and steady, fists against the door. "Mr. Radford!" Crawford's voice boomed through the door, echoing through the empty World O' Stuff. "Mr. Radford, we never inspected your store. Mr. Radford."

Over and over Crawford called Mr. Radford's name.

Radford cast the door a steady look, blew out a breath, and grabbed a set of keys before rounding the counter and heading towards the back of the store. "Leave your shakes," he called. "We have to go."

Dash was up in a shot, sauntering after Radford like they didn't have malevolent forces pounding at their door. Mars glanced at Simon who took one last sip of his black cow before sliding off his stool. They followed Radford and Dash to a looming brown door at the back of the store. Radford had already fitted the key in the lock by the time they caught up and he pulled the door open, ushering them down a set of dark steps.

"I'm afraid there's no light," he said. "Go slow and be careful."

With a shrug, Dash started down - faster than he probably should have. Simon went next, then Marshall, then Radford came through and shut and locked the door, plunging them into a pitch blackness that felt almost palpable. Like a curtain had been draped over them.

"What are we going to do?" Marshall asked into the blackness, more to remind himself that he wasn't alone than because he thought he didn't already know the answer.

"We're going to confront him and get this over with," Radford said, his voice sounding muffled in the dark.

Marshall sighed.

He'd been afraid of that.

***

Winston Chisel had a lot of plans. Some of them had come to fruition - the fact that he was still the Mayor of this dinky little town was evidence enough of that. Others had been thwarted - he would never forgive the town's professional weirdness investigators for all the advancements they had halted when they were still amateurs. However, considering their tenacity and general distrust of powers that be, Chisel had to admit he had been far more successful than others in his position might have been.

Still, it didn't hurt to take precautions.

Especially when renewing an immortality contract.

He'd found the instructions for creating pocket dimensions centuries ago. They came with a lot of warnings, and he probably should have heeded them before creating the first one, but it turned out all right in the end. And he'd gotten Sergeant Knight out of the deal, so he considered that win in the long run. Ancient Milk Men could say what they wanted about causal loops and tears in the fabric of reality, the Lost Hour was definitely a _success_.

Over the millennia, Chisel had gotten better at pocket dimensions. He still sometimes tore reality a little, but that was the cost of doing business. So when the time came to renew his contract, he knew exactly how to keep Marshall Teller, Simon Holmes, and that weird kid with the gray hair out of his way: put them in a pocket dimension.

The problem was, he needed help. And he wasn't sure he could trust his best friend anymore.

So instead, he was going to have to reach through dimensions to an alternate. He hadn't spoken with Crawford since the television tear had leaked more of his Eerie's weirdness into Crawford's dimension, but he was sure the gentleman would be more than willing to step in and lend aid. Especially if Chisel reminded him that, if he did as he was asked, Chisel would pass on the secrets of immortality.

Maybe.

Probably not.

The only person he had ever wanted to share his immortality with was Bart, and he'd lost that chance when his friend had started helping the Teller kid look into what was happening. It was one thing to lose your best friend, it was another to lose him to a sniveling kid who asked too many questions.

They'd all get their comeuppance, of course.

Once he had finished the ritual and was assured of another twenty-five years of ageless immortality.

So once he had secured the pocket dimension, populated it with a few trustworthy individuals, set Crawford in charge, and slipped the pesky trio inside it, he finally began to prepare.

The ritual wasn't the hardest he'd ever done, but it took a few days of preparation and had to be conducted during a new moon, so the timing had to be perfect. That was why he breathed easier with Teller and his friends tucked away. He could have disposed of them - fed them to a hell beast, used them in a sacrifice - but he'd found over the years that it was good for business to have weirdness investigators. Especially if he could keep their attention away from him and focused on something else. If they weren't looking at him, he was free to carry out his own nefarious deeds.

That was likely _why_ he had as many successes as he did, despite their meddling. In a town like Eerie, there was plenty to distract them with.

Unfortunately, as time went on, they were starting to look his way more and more, and to look closer. If this worked, he might have to save that dimension for future projects. It would be nice to have a place to put the trio whenever he didn't want them looking into things.

If it worked.

It was dark and cold the night of the new moon. He stood on the shores of lake Eerie, naked before the night sky. His feet were in the water, the cold biting at him, numbing him. He waited, letting his body hurt and ache in the chill, waiting for feeling to recede. As his toes grew numb, he began to walk further into the water, descending slowly beneath the black surface, arms outstretched as he approached the creatures that waited in its inky depths.

The water swallowed him.

The night was still.

***

"Where are we?" Marshall asked, his voice a hoarse whisper. He could feel fresh air, cool against his cheeks.

"Who cares, we're not _there_." Dash, pushing past Mars, was little more than a silhouette as he marched away.

"Wait!" Marshall called, but it was too late. 

"We're in the woods, I think" Simon said. "I found a tree."

Marshall turned towards his voice. "What do you mean you found a tree?"

"Well. I walked into it," Simon said, voice quiet and sheepish. "It's definitely a-"

There was a splash and a shout from the direction Dash had gone. Marshall started forward. "Dash!" he called. "Dash are you okay?" His sneakers sank into the soft mud and water at the edge of the lake and he stopped, squinting into the night, trying to see Dash. 

Heavy, wet hands fell on his shoulders and Dash was there, glaring up at him. "We're at the lake," he growled, then pulled away, stripping off his soaking trench coat and tossing it into the grass on the lake's shore.

"Oh no," Radford said, his voice carrying over them in the still night air. "We're too late. I should have known. I should have suspected."

"Suspected what?"

"The ritual," Radford came up beside Marshall, Simon behind him still rubbing the spot on his head where he'd hit the tree. "I didn't realize it had been that long."

"What do you mean?" Marshall asked, glaring up at Radford. "You knew all along what was happening and you didn't bring us back immediately?"

"No, I told you the truth, I wasn't _sure_ what was happening. But...," he trailed off and shook his head. "I thought he'd given this up."

"Given what up?" Simon glanced nervously at the still surface of the lake. The trio waited, quiet and uncertain.

Radford pulled in a slow breath, let it out, and shook his head. "Immortality," he said.

"Fuck," Dash breathed.

"We have to go," Radford said. "Before he surfaces. We have to go."

"Wait," Marshall said, looking out across the lake. "He's _in_ the lake?"

"Yes, and we have to leave before he sees us."

"Why? Can't we just wait and take him out?" Dash crossed his arms over his chest and looked up at Radford, eyebrows raised.

"Did you miss the _immortal_ part?" Marshall asked. Not because he didn't agree with Dash - he wanted to stay, to see this through - but because why did Dash have to be so confrontational about...everything?

"Marshall's right," Radford said, earning Mars a glare from Dash. "He'll be at his strongest, too, with the ritual just completed. We have to retreat and plan."

Dash shook his head. "I'm not going anywhere," he said. "You do what you want, but I'm staying here and I'm giving Chisel hell for trapping us in that shithole."

"The Bad Place," Simon supplied.

"It wasn't actually the Bad Place, Simon," Marshall said.

Simon shrugged. "That's what it was made to be," he said. "It might not have been _the_ Bad Place but it was _a_ Bad Place."

"Fine, okay, I'm giving Chisel hell for trapping us in A Bad Place," Dash said, shaking his head. "Happy now?" he asked.

Simon shrugged. "I was just being specific."

"We _cannot_ stay here!" Marshall snapped. "He's coming out of there _immortal_. What are we supposed to do against that?"

"I don't care I'm doing _something_."

"No." Radford's voice was harsh and cutting in the night. He settled a hand on Marshall's shoulder, but he turned his gaze to Dash. "You boys go," he said. "Go to the World O' Stuff and wait, _I'll_ deal with Winston."

"We're not just going to leave you!" Marshall protested, but Radford was already pushing him towards the tree line.

"Go," he said. "I'll take care of it."

Dash scooped up his coat and slipped into the darkness. Reluctantly, Simon and Marshall followed. But they didn't go to the World O' Stuff. The stopped a few feet into the trees and turned back, all three of them, squinting out at the lake and the shadowy figure of Radford they could see waiting on the bank.

***

Bartholomew J. Radford stood and waited for his best friend to return from his trip beneath the lake. Waited in the cold night, watching the still water for signs that the ritual was over and the creatures were releasing Winston Chisel back to the land of mortals. Another twenty-five years of immortality granted. He had lost count, had stopped thinking about it, and had let it come without even realizing. What was the point of trying to stop his best friend from making deals with other worldly horrors if he couldn't even remember the anniversary of the first?

The air grew even more still, somehow, impossibly. Radford waited as the water parted and Chisel strode up from the depths, naked and glistening in the dim star light. He stopped before Radford, arms hanging loosely at his sides, and smiled. "Bart, it's nice to see you," he said, oozing false sincerity. "What brings you to the lake so late on so dark a night?"

"You said you'd stop," Radford said, his voice barely a whisper. "You said you'd let the time run out and you'd age like the rest of us and finish out your life."

"Bartholomew," Chisel said, shaking his head. He stepped out of the water and his skin seemed to ripple as it dried, the water replaced with clothing. "Bartholomew, my friend, when have I ever told the truth?"

"You did once." Not in millennia, Radford knew, but the argument had to be made.

"You ought to stop believing in people, it makes life so much easier," Chisel said, settling a hand on Radford's shoulder. "No one can disappoint you if you don't put your faith in them."

"It's sadder, too," Radford said, holding Chisel's gaze. He knew what was coming. Knew he had to let it so that Marshall and Simon and Dash could fully understand the threat they would be facing in the years to come. Still, it hurt his heart as he awaited the inevitable.

"Goodbye, old friend," Chisel said, his voice soft. Almost kind. He reached up with his other hand, took Radford's head, and twisted it just so.

The crack echoed across the still lake.

A scream came from the woods, sharp and harsh. Raw. 

Winston Chisel threw his head back and laughed.


End file.
